We R Young
by r.b.fanfic
Summary: A banal and simple love story between a professor and a student. Not so banal when Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are involved. And not so simple when the anthem of their couple is 'We are Young'. Alternative Universe.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I Don't Own either Harry Potter (JK. Rowling) or the song "We are young" (Fun). I don't make profits from the story.**

…

**Prologue: Universal Rule**

_When you hate rules, you have a tendency to live by them._

Young people don't care about rules. They usually don't listen to them. They don't follow them. They don't even want to hear talk of them. But is that a bad thing? Isn't it the desire of everyone to live by his own rules? Is turning 21 mean you become an adult and start following the flock? Is that even a principle? Perhaps, for some people…

But definitely not for me.

My name is Harry James Potter and at exactly 21 years old, I'm an adult only by name and age. You have to understand, rules and I have a difficult history. Since my childhood, I hate them. It's even stronger than that. I abhor when people want and try to have a say in my life. Being truly independent, my own master, hasn't been an easy thing to earn, but now that I'm about to teach as the youngest English Literature teacher of Hogw' Arts Private Academy, I intend to live by my own principles.

Let's face it, you'd probably describe me as a pretty simple guy – everyone can be fooled, remember that. Frankly, I don't need a lot of things to be happy. I just need to do what I love. And what do I love more than literature? Well, literature is even too vast. I love words and I'm good with them, have always been: teaching was so the easy way. Now that I'm going to teach on week and write all my free time, you'd say my life is finally falling into place.

But as a coin, I have two different sides: the face I share with my friends, the face I'm going to share with my future students; and the face led by my weaknesses, my wounds. And on week-end, my other life begins. Because, you see, I love – and more importantly need – to party. I love to dance. I love to smoke – and it's obviously not a habit I only do on week-end. I love to drink and even do drugs on occasion.

I would never even imagine to collide these two worlds… I let you picture the catastrophe.

Don't believe my speech is tainted by smugness. I'm not proud of who I am. I admit willingly I'm not a perfect guy, an ideal son-in-law and especially not a good example. But since I don't know how to be different, seeing that I don't deserve it in my opinion, I prefer to shield myself from others. Not only for my own good, but for others especially.

That doesn't mean I don't want to be better. I want and need to redeem myself for some past actions. Being close to anyone has the tendency to burn me. And I don't speak about the state of the other one…

So when I was a student, I set up a line of rules I've improved as a newly teacher. Even if my story shows clearly I'm not really good at following rules, I intend to keep mine to heart. They saved my life after all. It would be stupid not to follow them, for the sake of my students if not for my own.

…

On paper, these words seemed so simple. These thoughts seemed legitimate. I was far from guessing the new classroom I was walking to was about to become the center of a fundamental change in my life. In this room, in my new life, I was going to face my secrets, my past, my dark side and most of all, my rules.

These rules I had created so diligently were about to be ripped apart. One after another, they were going to fall to ashes by the last person on earth I would have expected: a blond boy called Draco Malfoy.

I still can vividly see him when we first met that day… If someone had told me then that the song I was focusing on was about to become our anthem, I would have probably laughed. And yet…

This song I love so much is typical of me, typical of us because you have to remember that fact before the beginning of your reading: we both are very young.

My name is Harry Potter and this is the diary of my story, _his story_, **our story**.


	2. Rule N1

September – October:_Give me a second I, I need to get my story straight_

_..._

**Rule N°1**

_Never start on the wrong foot with a student, or anybody for that matter…_

…_as much as you can avoid it._

_..._

**One look is all it take to hate. With Draco, despite our status as professor and student, one class together was all it take to start a fierce war between the two of us.**

**...**

As I'm about to introduce myself for the first time in front of my upper Sixth Form class, I'm remarkably relaxed. Don't think I consider teaching as an amusement, but let's say this is natural for me. I just have one wish: being face to face with my new students. My first class being with the students preparing their A-levels is only a coincidence, but in a way, it couldn't have been otherwise. This is a sign, the best way to get into the swing of things.

My belongings already in my room, I casually head to my desk, on which I sit cross-legged, my eyes fixed on my audience. I can hear very clearly the screams of the other teachers but do temper your passion, I don't try to act dilettante. I just believe that the best professors stay natural. And I'm certainly not going to put on airs.

"My name is Harry," I finally state with a wide smile toward everyone. "And I hope you will call me that way. If I don't give you my last name, I dare hope you won't be tempted to use it. And please don't use either sir or professor."

My voice is warm but still firm. Even if I'm not against the idea of being their friends, I intend to work in this class and I want them to understand.

The heads in the front row all nod and so I take a few seconds to observe the students in detail. Only when my eyes finally cross the back row do I notice him for the first time. The first sight I have of him is his blond hair, almost platinum. His clothes are obviously Haute Couture, tailored. He's slouched on his chair but remains elegant. That simple fact annoys me, even if I don't show it. Once I stop scrutinizing him – much more pointedly than I want to admit – finally, our eyes meet. I admit, in spite of myself, I already distinguish him from the other students. This isn't a choice, just an obligation. At that instant, I still ignore if he acts that way with all his teachers, if he improves his casualness with precision but I dare hope he sees in me what I see in him. His first words clearly show me he does:

"Absolutely, Mister Potter," he says, holding my stare, a challenging and superiority air printed in his pupils.

Of course, the students burst out laughing. At this age, a simple thing like that is enough to distract, bringing chaos to the class. I know it perfectly well, I'm not much older than them after all. But I'm not going to lose my cool for so little.

"No way, we have a smart ass here. What betrayed me?"

Our eyes are still clung to each other, I don't even worry about the other students, and I see the first spark of irritation in his orbs, because of my retort. Another pupil would have probably shut his mouth and despite the poorness of his answer, he can't help but say:

"My father. The Mayor of London, you might have heard of him. He is also an important member of the directive committee of our dear old school."

"But of course! You must be a Malfoy, if I am not mistaken."

"Draco Malfoy," he retorts, insisting on his first name as if it was enough to bring respect and authority.

It might be the case for his father or with people in general but I'm definitely not like everybody else. The few giggling I hear don't prevent me to hurl, imitating the drawling voice of the blond:

"Well, Draco, if you insist to call me Mister Potter, I'd understand. After all, I believe that in your world, the reminder of the ladder is important. And it seems you need to know who your master is, so I'll make an exception for you. You can call me Mister."

My words probably outrun my thoughts and my tone is more cutting than intended because silence suddenly falls on the room. Draco is clearly taken aback but not as much as I am. I don't understand what just crossed my mind. I act as normal as possible, as if nothing had happened, as if it was logical for me to be so sharp, even mean. I keep my mask of indifference I've perfected since my childhood. Draco, on the other hand, has completely lost it. There are not only traces of annoyance on his face now but a real fury. I just stride a chord, without meaning to.

Our eyes still locked for a few more seconds, I know that we're both feeling the same thing at that instant: hatred. What I don't expect to find in a corner of my mind though is that pernicious sensation which seeps into me: I'm happy of my reply, glad of its effect. Not because I've been nasty but because my words have had a true effect on my student. Draco's eyes light up, they shine with life and the blond is even more beautiful. His eyes intrigue me and I'd give anything to know his thoughts.

…

_He's here, right in front of us, right in front of me, so pretentious and I want to throw up. Who does he think he is sincerely? Sitting that way, as if he was our friend, our equal. He's certainly not mine. One look and I already know he doesn't belong in our world. He has nothing to do here._

_The start of term was yesterday and so he hasn't given any actual lessons and yet the whole school talks about him, the young prodigy. I felt sick even before I came into his room but now that I have set my eyes on him, my nausea's turned to bile. Who does he think he's going to impress in this outfit? His clothes aren't tailored, even less branded. He almost looks like a hobo. And his hair… did I tell you about his hair? It's such a mess it's a wonder why birds haven't begun to build a nest in it. But the worst is probably his smile… I want to hit him. With no doubt, every girl in that school is going to melt away. As if it was his role._

_Barely a foot in Hogw' and he already wants to make friends with his students – this guy hasn't understood a thing, I swear. I almost want to laugh except his voice disgusts me and what he's saying is such an insult to us. As soon as I get the opportunity, I don't hesitate to rebuff him. Mister Potter, you're not welcomed here!_

_..._

_I can't believe his audacity. Who does he think he is? Does he know who he is talking to? My father will hear about it, I swear on my name. If he hasn't left in one month, I'll have his hide, one way or another. I don't want him fired just because of his looks and his manners, I'm not that vain. No! If only you saw his behavior. I look at my comrades and read only admiration in their eyes. Of course, from stupid people, I can't expect much. I feel ashamed to be a member of this circle. Frankly! Only one smile and they're all hooked. They already want to please him, to be on a first-name terms with him as he required – I swear I heard girls sighing with pleasure – and especially answer to his stupid request. As a new teacher, he wants to get to know us, that's understandable. But you can't be more cliché. 'Talk about yourself, your passions, what you've learnt and preferred in this class thus far, what you expect to learn this year and what you think of your school.' When we'll be finished, the class will certainly be almost over. Clever guy… I intend to surprise him. As if I was going to answer to his instructions and write literary. He's gonna be surprised. I hate him already…_

_But my ordeal isn't over yet. Once our work is gathered up, Potter explains how he's going to proceed in his course. I don't even tell you. We'll have to do everything during our free time or studies. Potter thinks classes are strictly meant to read texts out loud, to discuss, to give our opinion on the book studied, to elaborate an oral commentary all together and then write a summary. And if our work wasn't already as huge as it is, we'll have one essay to hand every two weeks… Of course, we'll have seen every notion in class but still, I can see clearly the amount of work we'll have to give… I feel dizzy. Does he think he's gonna rest on his laurels and be a simple mediator in class? I think so. I almost come to regret our last professor and his classical methods, deadly boredom!_

_Am I the only one to see his little game? It seems so. Even Blaise is in a hurry to begin to work under Saint Potter's orders. And his orders already come. He sustains the suspense of the chosen book for a few minutes, playing with our nerves, our pleasure – at least the one of my comrades – then finally gives us the wanted book. I'd be lying if I'd say I wasn't as excited as my peers. After all, there is a good reason why I chose English Literature. My demeanor shows nothing of my excitement though: I'm not a vulgar student. Before I give a look to the title, I direct my regard towards my professor who is also staring at me, probably waiting for my reaction. And because of that, I want, I need to mock his choice._

_But on my table is one of my favorite book: the Picture of Dorian Gray and of course I'm flabbergasted. I wasn't expecting this, I admit and so my mask cracks, only for a moment. I perfectly know that Potter's eyes are still on me and when I finally observe him again, I see his smile. Does he know the impact of that book on me? Obviously not. I feel almost edgy under his scrutiny and his provocative smile… I'm not going to deny that story, those characters, only to counter him. My lack of reaction seems to reassure him, to please him and so he doesn't hesitate to embark on the introduction of his course._

"_What do you know of the author?" he finally asks after a few words._

_I'm not going to answer that question, hell no! Still, the remarks of my fellows interest me. What can they know of something so classic? I'm certainly not disappointed._

"_He was gay," answers one of my comrades._

_I can't help but roll my eyes, especially when I hear Potter's laugh. All my friends are laughing too._

"_Probably his best quality in my opinion but not necessarily the main information of his biography, even if I can see the modern appeal of that character trait…"_

_His words almost make me smile. Almost because I hold back. I much prefer focusing on the title page, showing a beautiful Dorian, waiting for the aversion of my teacher to kick in again._

_My hatred, for a while calmed down thanks to the discovery of the book, comes back at full blast. As the lesson goes on, the prerequisites and food for thought Potter gives us so easily make me hate him even more: he chooses adequate words, words that have a true effect on me, thoughts I shamefully share with him. My own opinions turn against me and I hate myself._

_Luckily, the bell rings not so long after and I leave the room without a look for Potter – well, that's what I want to say to myself but much to my dismay, the truth is slightly different. I head to my locker and I lean on it for a while. After only one class, I already feel a headache starting to show. Sounds promising. Because I haven't said it yet but Potter is also my teacher in Creative Writing. If I'm that bad after only one class, I don't even want to imagine what a daily vision will give me._

_As my first comrades come in the hallways, I quickly take a decision to cure my pains. I need to bang a girl. A quick shag in the bathrooms during the break is the best to get back on tracks after an abominable class._

_Fortunately, I don't have to go far to find a silly goose, not too ugly – most of them pray to have me under their skirt. Unfortunately, it's only when I come that I notice the color of the eyes of my classmate: green. Nothing to do with Potter's emeralds! Did I really think that?_

…

**Idiotic the way a simple interaction determines the future of a relationship. With Draco, our future started with a look and a booming declaration. Even if I've always avoided to be overly friendly, I've never been deliberately mean, apart from my uncle – but for obvious reasons. But Draco had triggered something in me… As if he was the archetype of the typical rich boys who had a perfect and easy life. A life I had never had. A life I couldn't help but be envious of.**

**Later on, I heard of what Draco had seen in me, had sensed of me and weirdly, our conclusions weren't that far from each other. We were so different and yet so alike and we embodied the exact desire of the other.**

**One thing though had left a mark on both of us despite that mutual hatred nearly palpable between us: our eyes. Sparkling green look facing a stormy one.**

**...**

**New Rule N°1**

_Never linger over the physique of your student…_

…_always the beginning of trouble…_

… _and sometimes the start of something great._


	3. Rule N2

**Quick note: **If someone is interested to beta this story, I'll be eternally grateful.

September-October: _Give me a second I, I need to get my story straight_

…

**Rule N°2**

_Never be intrigued by a student._

…

**A writing is all it takes for my judgment about Draco to change. And yet, it wasn't looking good at first… From the beginning of our second class, the battle already raged indeed.**

…

Except from the remark of one of my coworker who mockingly told me I was the new celebrity of the Academy, I've been warmly welcomed by my fellow colleagues and more importantly my students. As I'm about to start my second class with Draco, I dare hope our tumultuous start won't last. At least, that's what I want to think.

As soon as I set my eyes on him, though, I know nothing has been forgotten neither forgiven. He still feels the same about me and I can't help a smile to spread on my face. I'm satisfied. Much to my dismay, his reaction to my smile is almost inexistent. I look at him more intently as I greet my students and I see deep rings under his eyes. The young man must have gone to bed pretty late which is odd because the boarding school has a strict politic about curfew.

I observe his comrade sitting next to him, Blaise Zabini, his best friend. He doesn't wear any sign of tiredness. Draco Malfoy must be the only one subject to insomnia. Despite his fatigue, the blonde's posture hasn't changed from the day before: he is slumped on his chair, always so perfect. He doesn't pay attention to my words, he should. I'm about to give back the papers from yesterday and I'm definitely not impressed with his work. I keep his leaf for the end. I almost want to read some part of his work in front of the whole class, just to show what they shouldn't do, humiliating the boy in the process. But I'm not that mean.

As I keep walking in the ranks, giving oral evaluation of my student's productions, I can't pretend not to see him whispering furiously to Blaise. Especially when I make the mistake of hearing clearly his words. He doesn't pay attention to me, doesn't seem to mind that I'm within earshot. He's not afraid of me, he should be.

"He is just an obnoxious, arrogant prat who thinks he is better than anyone else," he's saying to Blaise who smiles at him.

"You know, that's exactly what people might say about you," answers the black boy and I'm immediately intrigued by their discussion, even more their relationship.

Draco Malfoy doesn't seem to be the type of guy to whom you can speak so frankly. At least, that's what I thought.

"I know but there is a big difference between us…" keeps on Draco, a smirk on his lips.

"Which is?"

"I'm not a freaking orphan."

"Draco!" I exclaim suddenly because I can't take more. "You just got yourself a detention."

I do nothing to hide the anger in my eyes and Draco seems to be satisfied with his performance, theoretically intentional.

"What for… if I may ask?" he wants to know with a sardonic voice.

"Nattering," I retort, gritting my teeth, barely keeping my anger at bay.

"I wasn't the only one talking," he hits, undaunted.

"Oddly enough, I only saw your lips moving," I frankly retaliate maybe to sincerely even.

"Then stop looking at them," he dares say to me, a jeering smile on his lips.

I'm sure he thinks he got me with his remark but I admit, even if my next reaction is a bit childish, I give it nonetheless.

"I look at them just as I want."

And my answer has an immediate effect. Many of my students laugh but Draco has the decency to blush. Of course, I frown, intrigued, a mute question on my lips. I suddenly remember I'm in a classroom and not in a club. I'm not going to lose my splendor as a teacher and most of all contravene my rules for the blond.

"Anyway," I start again, "I already wanted to give you an hour to catch up on your essay – it was the opposite of what I asked from you. You will take benefit of the detention to do so. I'll be at my office at the end of the hour."

One last glance to show him my inner fury and I take back my lesson as if nothing had happened. I decide against reading his words out loud, it would give him too much honor, too much pleasure and I'm not here for that.

…

_If I dared, I wouldn't even go to his office. He left his class without looking at me, maybe a challenge to see how far I'm willing to go. Despite my desire to disobey, despite my unusual audacity and rushes of provocation I have when I'm around Potter, I force myself to swallow my well-located pride and I head to his office. If he thinks one hour of detention will weaken my determination, he surely doesn't know me. In only one day, I've heard dozen of chatters about him from all sides, my hatred has doubled. At least._

_One last urge of insolence makes me come in his room without a knock. He is standing at his window, looking outside, a cigarette in his mouth. Twat! Don't you know you're not supposed to smoke here? Of course, students break that rule all the time but he's a professor. He annoys me. Now, I want a drag too._

_My blaring entering, far from my usual and natural class, forces him to turn around. I see the beginning of a smile on his face but he wipes it off right away. Are you making fun of me? Idiot._

"_I thought maybe you wouldn't come," he exclaims, obviously surprised._

_Yes, Potter, you're not innately wise._

"_If I were you, I would have certainly not come," he muses, puffing on his fag, thoughtful._

_I don't really know what to answer. Is he trying to coax me? As if he could succeed. After a last sigh that makes me involuntary blush, Potter crushes his cigarette in his ashtray before sitting casually on his desk. Pinch me! Can't he act elegant at all? I can't help but raise my brows, a manifest sign of disgust but Potter gives me a challenging smile._

"_You know it's forbidden," I tell him, once more glad to naturally use a buddy's tone, something my parents certainly didn't teach me._

_He laughs wholeheartedly and I'm suddenly afraid to be facing a lunatic… Or a moody man who changes his mind as often as he changes his underwear. Maybe a blind man – he wears glasses after all – who confuses me with his best friend. His behavior troubles me, his retort even more._

"_And do __**you**__ know it's forbidden to be insolent with your teacher… Even more to give off information about my private life. Details you would have never had if it wasn't for your father…"_

_He would have slapped me, my surprise wouldn't have been as authentic. I feel like being caught out and I don't like the feeling at all. Obviously, I understand Potter is talking about his orphan status. Have I been too mean to Saint Potter? He can go fuck himself if he thinks I'm going to apologize. My sudden qualms won't change my mind. But he doesn't seem to wait for any form of justification, which stuns and disturbs me the most. His reactions are so unexpected I'm left speechless. I have to take back the upper hand, fast._

"_I don't need my father to learn more about your 'private life' as you put it. You do it by yourself just fine, __**Harry**__."_

_I insist on his name because I want him to understand his friendly behavior doesn't work with me._

"_And what do you mean exactly?" he asks, his eyes shining with excitement coming from I don't know where._

_His posture has changed. Without noticing it, I'm sure, he has moved forward, much closer to me. He looks like a child in front of a candy shop and once more, I'm completely lost, definitely not on the same wavelength… as if he knew something I'd ignore._

"_Let's see… You give us your name so easily, you must have been aware it would be easy for your students to find anything about you on the Internet…"_

"_As in, Draco? Enlighten me, I'm begging you!"_

_His nerve is a rock. We're caught in a verbal fencing I certainly wasn't expecting. And I don't know how to get free of it._

"_I don't know…" I answer with a shrug, uncomfortable._

"_I thought YOU had looked for?"_

_I finally surrender._

"_I admit, my father gave me that information, happy now?"_

"_Not quite. If it happens the information spreads out among your comrades, I'll know you'll be behind it, Draco and your misconduct won't stay unpunished."_

_Shocked by his cold tone, I am panting. I'm the one supposed to speak like that, not that scumbag. We look each other up and down for a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, until he sighs and once more, I blush. I don't know what I have done to my fucking hormones for them to wake up around him but if he could drop the erotic sounds, I'd be grateful… probably. My reaction seems to catch his attention. The emotions in his emerald pupils change again. I'm almost not surprised by his change of mood._

"_You know what that so-called students could find on the Internet about me… Not much except for my scholastic success and the 'stunning-news' of my sexuality. Two aspects of my life which are obvious for anybody who spend ten minutes in my company. So, please, I ask one more time, could you stop spreading secrets about me. Even if it's evident for the entire school that you and I don't like each other, attacking someone on its private life is worthy of no one. And I'd be force to play as low as you, if it happened again…"_

_Taken aback by his sincerity as much as his barely masked threat, I can't help but nod. Actually, I've listened absent-mindedly to the end of his speech. I've been stuck to the word sexuality. This might not be a big revelation since he left no doubt but it is still a shock to me, Draco Malfoy. First, because I realize how much Potter and I are different. And I would have preferred to keep the sexual area out of my way. Why does he taunt me on this hazardous theme?_

_Of course, for those who know me, it's a certainty I'm sexually happy. Let's say things aren't that easy. I still don't accept me at my full potential but Potter is obviously comfortable with his inner self._

_The shock is bigger though. I can't help but recall the words he gave me an hour ago. I have to wonder about their meaning. Did he just admit he was looking at my lips in that way? I can't keep my blushing at bay. Potter disturbs me in the worst way and I want to send everything flying in the room, beginning with the new cigarette he puts in his mouth. Fuck, I'd love to have a bit of nicotine right now! Father might think this is unrefined, the tobacco's calm would be very welcomed._

_My thoughts are bubbling up freely in my mind, crazy emotions spread on my face and I can't even imagine what Potter might think of the expressions I give to him. But why doesn't he react? He seems elsewhere, in a contemplation that makes me at a loss of words, until he gets back his bearings. He lets out an umpteenth sigh and I get the sudden irrepressible urge to be the reason of his almost moans. Fortunately, he can't read my mind, I don't want to give him a false impression. Don't imagine I'm attracted. It's just Potter and his … noises. Luckily, he finally opens his mouth again and as soon as I hear a sound, my exasperation overtakes my brief insanity._

"_Do you have free time in your schedule?" he asks, almost upset._

_In the space of one second, he seems to have grown older and I don't even know why._

"_We could do that one evening but I don't want you to lose your precious time on me."_

_The irony is there but the tone isn't sharp anymore. He's in another world._

_Giving my caustic remarks up, I hand him my timetable, all businesslike, my mask in place: a Malfoy in all its splendor, Father would be proud of me._

"_Tomorrow, between 4 and 5, after our class of Creative Writing, I have some free time too," he says before giving my notebook back. "You should go to the canteen now. I already kept you too long."_

_Why does he seem so melancholic all of a sudden? And why am I so interested? I don't have time to think about it, I can't hold back my next words, which surprise Potter as much as myself._

"_Don't you come with me?"_

_My voice is almost gentle, pleasant, as if I was worried. Even my own mother hasn't heard that tone since a few years now. I can't begin to comprehend the reason of my attitude._

_Potter smiles before adding:_

"_I'm not really hungry. Cigarettes would be enough for now."_

_I nod as an answer then get the hell out of his office. I need to leave that peculiar atmosphere. I need to get away from that man who makes me act so unlike me. Fast._

…

My eyes buried in the emptiness of Draco, I let my mind wander on the scene that just happened, forgetting my fag that ends up burning me. Draco Malfoy intrigues me. More than he should. His face was so expressive earlier. Behind the mask resides a heart and I feel ashamed of my own behavior. I feel guilty to be aggressive towards him, to force him to hate me on our first class, whatever I've done.

It's dumb but he makes me think of myself when I was still a boy. We're so unlike though. We come from opposite worlds and yet, as we were speaking, or more accurately when he was silent, I recognized well-known emotions, a struggle against himself even. I don't quite understand that feeling, that intuition and I feel uncertain. I suddenly think about my past and I don't really like what I see. I can't wait for my next class to begin.

…

After two and a half hours of a relatively enriching course, Draco being awfully quiet, even absent from time to time, I'm almost eager to be alone with him. It was already our third class together – he's one of the students I see the most after all – and I just discovered another side of his character. He was regally composed, almost off and I can't say I liked it a lot. I'm willing to hear him shout his antipathy towards me, if only he could speak. Luckily – well, not sure about that – his eyes were a lot on me, the only concrete proof he was listening. Now that our confrontation is about to start, I can't help but feel satisfied.

With a smile, I greet my students one after another, until there is only one left. His eyes on the window, Draco is faking a deep contemplation but I can see the twitch of his fingers, he dreads our reunion. Without talking, I close the door behind us – something not really advised – but it's not like I was about to jump on him and anyway, I've always loved the atmosphere set up by a closed door. The sound of the door makes the blond jump and I wonder if he's afraid of me. I leave that thought behind, as if anything in my features could be scary. This is my strength after all, a strength I've perfected – and others have improved – since my childhood. How is that even possible that Draco takes me back to my past again? I don't really want to face the question so I come closer to him. He hasn't moved from his spot at the bottom of the room. If he's more comfortable with a safe distance between the two of us, I'm not going to complain.

As soon as he hears my first footstep, Draco's eyes are on my face. He looks at me behind a strand of hair, fallen on his eyes. Without further delay, he takes it back. Malfoy's perfection comes with a cost.

"Did you bring your essay?" I finally ask and he hands the paper with no answer.

I allow myself to gaze at his broken sentences I ashamedly already know by heart. Since I began reading and writing, I've realized one thing: even if you don't have a special something, a special style in your writing, everybody can work on it. Even the worst student could have an interesting result thanks to deep efforts and strong will. But only the gifted ones have the possibility to write a mess in a beautiful way, in accordance with standard practice. And that's exactly what I have in front of me. Draco's fingers are the epicenter of a certain talent, I'm sure of it and that is why I have a deal to offer him. A deal I have to bring in such a way that he agrees.

"I'm not going to say I understand why you've hated me at first sight, Draco, and the truth is, I don't really give a shit. But I can understand that your _feelings_ towards me didn't encourage you to follow my instructions. You're above that, I suppose."

I see in his eyes that my tactics work. His initial steel grey turns to icy black because of his anger. I intend to push the issue.

"I'm not going to lie to you. I think that asking you to improve your presentation would serve no end. Neither to you nor to me. I'm beginning to understand you and in my opinion, you will never give me information about the way you feel when it comes to your class, your school. You'll always find a way to deflect it. Frankly, comparing to know who's got the biggest isn't my role. And since we're gonna see each other a lot, let's try to make work together, the best we can."

His cheeks are red and he bites on his lower lip, I'm pretty sure he has dozen of remarks on his tongue but he doesn't honor me with his voice, as expected. I'm now sat on the nearest table from him and I can't help but be cross-legged, my favorite position, a sign I'm about to get to the heart of the matter.

"When I was younger, I easily understood I loved words. Quite often though, because of my teachers and their instructions, I was imprisoned in an artificial straitjacket and I didn't like that one bit. So, pretty early, I get used to practice automatic writing, I'm sure you know what this is?"

Draco nods, still unable or unwilling to voice his thoughts.

"I took a dictionary and chose words on which I let flow my quill in order to train my mind but also to relax, to lose myself in my words."

Of course, Draco doesn't know it but I've just unveiled some part of my intimacy I've never given to anyone. I don't even know how I'm able to give in to his criticism, so naturally.

"Maybe I'm wrong to make you work that way, to trust you when you showed me no reason to do so, but I was thinking that maybe that was exactly what you needed… I'd like you to focus on the feelings the detention inspires to you, everything you feel right now. Then write it down automatically, all the thoughts coming from your mind. Don't try to organize your writing. Don't try to use a peculiar style. Just write for your words, for your own good. Can you try for me?"

My question seems to be almost desperate, I've let myself being carried away by my passionate words. The paper in Draco's hand, I turn my eyes back to my desk and cross the few meters that separate me from it. I need to get my composure back. I can't watch him now even if I'm more than intrigued by his reaction.

…

_Of course, I don't want to attach importance to his instructions, even less his method and yet… He taunts me. He tempts me. And I know he has already won, at least that first round._

_I tilt my head to the sheet, seeing for the first time Potter's handwriting which is awful. I have difficulties to read it in fact. I manage to read the three words he's chosen though: orphan, insolence, sexuality._

_His eyes are on me, waiting for my reaction, and so, as expected, I blush. He's going to think I'm a shy virgin, I swear, I, the greatest seducer of Hogw'. I feel almost ashamed._

_That doesn't seem like me. I want to slap myself. I'm not going to handle that. And so, after a brief focus, I'm about to shut Potter's trap. I follow his advices and instructions. I focus on my prose, my words. He said he loves words… Look what I do to them!_

…

I don't know what he's writing. I don't know what's happening to him but the instant he put his pen on his paper, Draco seemed to be transformed as if all of a sudden, a passionate flow had taken up of his body. I knew it would work. I felt it. He really looks like me right now. And I've got only one urge: to take hold of his essay to know what's putting him in that state.

I'm eager to read his words. I'm eager to taste his inside.

And I'm certainly not disappointed when an hour later, I devour with passion the detailed criticism of my own actions since the first time we met. The description is implicit but it couldn't be more obvious: this is me.

He used the three words just to write about me. He doesn't know me very well and yet, the sentences are all here, hurriedly inscribed. He was definitely inspired. His words are tough. They tell me straight away what he thinks of the presence of a poor orphan in his school. I almost expect him to say he hates gay people but he doesn't speak about it. No, he describes my sexuality as a strength I rely on in my relationships with others – and he isn't even wrong. How can he understand so much of me in so little of times? I'm flabbergasted and I can't help but smile.

I remember the transcendental state he was in as he wrote those words. In his Greek God's body live a good brain and a delectable prose. Draco Malfoy is more and more interesting.

…

**After Draco's first detention, after his first real writing, something had already changed between us. Draco was caught between a rock and a hard place: between interest and irritation. He didn't want to like me and the simple observation of me – he couldn't prevent himself to do – made his blood boil. Nevertheless, my behavior intrigued him, more and more.**

**As for myself, I had already shifted up a gear. I wasn't only intrigued by my student anymore, I was literally charmed. I saw in him a huge potential, a potential I wanted to exploit. I had never felt a desire so intense, so irrepressible. And yet, Draco was doing his best to infuriate me.**

**I was determined not to be dragged into a useless and fastidious squabble with Draco but his talents to get under my skin were unbelievable.**

**From the start, Draco and I had a certain effect on each other and I should have probably understood at that point, a danger was on our heads.**

…

**New Rule N°2**

_Never be charmed by the acerbic prose of a student…_

… _especially if the writing points directly at you._


End file.
